Eye Level
by A Wordsmith
Summary: In the end, it should have been known that there would be a connection between Harry Potter and the only teacher he could look in the eyes. Harry, during his detentions with Umbridge, gets a little help outside his House. And discovers he is not the only one suffering within Hogwarts.
1. Ravenclaw Office

Professor Mcgonagall looked down at him, eyes flashing brightly.

The woman in front of Harry was the one who had been born into a relatively average name and had clawed her way up the social ladder and secured a professional teaching position. The same woman who had stood up to both the Dark Lord Grindelwald and Voldemort without nearly so much as twitching her wand faster. The same woman with a back of iron and nerves of pure steel.

And also, apparently, the woman who was perfectly content to let him suffer.

He has gone up to her at Hermione's urgings and explained about the week of detention he has gotten from Professor Umbridge, where he had to write lines. But he had hardly gotten farther than that when she interrupted.

"I am afraid, Mr. Potter, that the only advice I can offer you is to keep your head down." Her voice was calm, collected. It didn't seem like she was signing Harry's death warrant.

Harry's mouth dropped open.

Through the heavy black robes, he tightly clutched his left hand. Pain was already bubbling up - he'd skipped his regular Essence of Murtlap soak in order to make it here on time.

The partially open scars were, since the last he'd checked them, bright red and oozing blood. He hadn't shown them to her yet - he was afraid, who wouldn't be - but she had shoved him off, focusing on the several scrolls out in front of her. He could read the top - _Properties_ _of_ _Transfiguration_ _on_ _Toads_ \- and even while she was looking at him, she scrawled notes in the corner of the page.

Didn't she understand? Didn't she remember?

All the last years where he, Ron, and Hermione had been correct? Correct about things that could have saved lives of she has just listened?

Harry scowled. "'Keep my head down', Professor McGonagall?"

Her eyes flared slightly, and she finally stopped writing on the paper. Tartan robes swished around her hand as she set her quill down, calm eyes meeting his angry ones. "Yes, Mr. Potter. I had believed that you were brave enough not to complain to me about detentions, but I see I was wrong."

There. Those were the words.

Rage flooded Harry's chest, fast and furious and strong. "But the _quill_ , Professor McGonagall! The quill, it-"

"Mr. Potter!" Now her voice was hard. Her back straight, shoulders taut. Eyes boring into his, still call and collected but not nearly as much so as they had been. "The only enchantment allowed on quills inside the Hogwarts Wards are Self-Inking and Auto-Correct charms. Albus checked it himself!"

Her posture was annoyed, even as her face slid back toward her paper. "Now, unless you are suggesting that Headmaster Dumbledore has failed in his job as our Headmaster, then I suggest you keep your head down and _do_ _not_ _complain_."

Mad laughter bubbled up his throat and chest, the kind that Harry had only made when he was so furious he just couldn't hold onto it anymore. "Yeah. Okay. Sure." His voice sounded bright red and raw and so full of injured _hurt_ he saw Professor McGonagall flinch, pulling her attention away from her papers and toward him.

But he had already stood up, defeat pooling around his feet. "I'll go keep my head down, Professor." He turned away and pushed through her office door.

As soon as he was in the hallway, Harry ran.

Feet pounded against the stones, robes whipping behind him, breath heavy and harsh and _hurt_ , all deep within his chest. His eyes flicked left to right.

He couldn't go back to the common room. He'd have to fend off questions from Ron and Hermione and _he wasn't ready to do that, not now, not ever._

He ran faster.

And now he was tearing across the hallways, thanking every deity he knew that there wasn't anyone out this late in the day. There was no one to stop him or make him go back to-

"Mr. Potter!"

But now he slowed, screeching to a stop all too fast yet too slow at the same time. He looked around, ready to crane his neck back to stare up at the stupid teachers that told him to _keep_ _his_ _head_ _down_ -

Only to find he didn't have to.

Professor Flitwick. A good solid 1.5 meters tall, as compared to Harry's 1.6 meters. Short hair, short face, short body, short everything, but only to everyone else in the castle. To Harry, he was the only person at eye level.

"What are you doing, Mr. Potter?" Professor Flitwick asked gently, eyes flicking over the visibly quivering boy. His face was pale and his eyes were red. There weren't any tears but something glittered at the corners of his iris'. His left arm was held in a death grip by his right, everything up to his fingers covered by his robes.

Harry looked at the Professor straight in the eye. He didn't have to crane his neck, didn't have to stare up, didn't have to change himself at all.

And Professor Flitwick looked genuine, too. Not the trying-to-care-but-really-don't feeling he had gotten from Professor McGonagall. He snorted.

Honestly, at this point, Harry didn't think he had any more shits left to give. Who cared whether Flitwick knew or didn't?

"Running." Internally, Harry winced. His voice sounded dead, his soul already having fled from his body. But in all honesty, that was how he _felt_. Each drip of blood from his hand carried a part of Harry Potter, and by the end of these detentions, he wouldn't have any left to bleed.

Though Professor Flitwick looked even more panicked now.

"Running from what?"

Harry paused. What was it he was running from? Professor McGonagall and her refusal to believe or even listen to him? Professor Umbridge with her cruelty and sadistic desire to make him pay for something he had no control over? The strange black quill with its tip stained red in his blood?

"Everything, I guess." He paused. "Sir."

Professor Flitwick's eyes hardened, but not in anger. Something built up from stone and strengthened in steel.

He gestured to the open doorway behind him, flicking his hand. "Come in, Mr. Potter." He gave a gentle smile. "Maybe I can get you to stop running from one thing, at least."

Harry looked around and shrugged. What did it matter of he talked with Professor Flitwick? If he was too late and got another detention, it would save him absolutely nothing, but it wouldn't change anything, either. Professor Umbridge would always find a way to assigned new detentions.

He followed the short professor, entering the coziest office he had ever seen.

While Professor McGonagall's had bright red and gold walls, pictures and posters of everything Gryffindor, and furniture so hard it made your back crick even looking at it, this was different.

A soft, gentle blue background, but the walls were played in thick, heavy wood bookcases. Two low torches flickered on the far wall, though they weren't nearly as impressive as the large fireplace hissing and crackling in the corner. Two comfy armchairs sat in front of a rather short desk.

Harry took a seat, and nearly leapt out of his skin in surprise as the chair twisted, shrinking and lengthening until it fit him perfectly. He shot a look at Professor Flitwick's, only for the man to raise an eyebrow and smile at him.

The professor took a seat behind the desk, fixing Harry with a powerful look. "Now, Mr. Potter, what - exactly- are you running from? I find that if you run from everything, it gets exhausting."

Harry couldn't help himself. His lips fluttered, falling into a loose grin. Why, oh why, was Professor Flitwick not the Gryffindor head of house?

But now he paused, but only for a second. It wasn't that hard of a question.

"I'm running from detention."

Professor Flitwick raised an eyebrow. "Running away from detention at such a close time to curfew does not exactly seem wise, does it?"

Harry grinned wider this time. "Well, from the torture that is detention with Umbridge."

"Torture, Mr. Potter?"

And it all came down to that, didn't it?

Forcing someone to write in their own blood was hardly good, but this was the Wizarding World, and Harry hadn't been able to find out what the quill was called to be able to research it. Maybe it was perfectly legal, but Harry sure as hell didn't think of it like that.

But it had taken Hermione _days_ to convince him to see McGonagall, and that had gone horribly, even before he had told her the entirety of what happened. Why would telling Professor Flitwick be any different?

He didn't care anymore.

"I'd call it that, sir."

Professor Flitwick still sounded curious, but there was something stronger in his voice. "And why is that, Mr. Potter?"

Harry didn't think. He just did.

He ripped back the sleeve of his left arm and shoved it forward. "Because of this, sir."

There was a loud and pressing silence, the kind that swallowed any words before they even left your throat.

Professor Flitwick's eyes grew wider and wider as he stared at the mess that was Harry's hand.

He had had detention that night, so the cuts were deep and bloody and _fresh_. Clotted scarlet was crusted on the outlines of the loopy, messy words written over and over again on the back of his hand. There was still a hint of white scar beneath the new cuts, and scabs were dotted across his hand.

Professor Flitwick looked beyond furious. "Where did you get those?" His voice was cold and angry, somewhere between the roar of a lion and the hiss of a snake. His shoulders were iron rods, his back a mountain. Harry had never seen the small professor so mad.

"Professor Umbridge, sir. I have to write lines in her detentions and her quills writes it on the back of my hand."

There was a pause.

"What have you been using to heal it?"

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. He hadn't expected that questions. "Er- Essence of Murtlap, sir."

Without looking, Professor Flitwick snapped his wand up and down three times. There was a _clink_ and then a drawer in one of the bookcases open. Out floated a small vial, twirling around in the air as it flew toward Harry. He snatched it out of the air, watching several bubbles rise in the pale green potion.

"A mild pain potion from the Hospital Wing, Mr. Potter. Please take it."

Harry paused for a second before downing it. The potion was bubbly, pleasant in texture - though the taste was somewhere between too-ripe bananas and overcooked meat.

But within a few seconds, his left hand tingled, and the stinging pain slowly bled away to nothingness.

Harry flexed his hand in shock. That had been the first time in several days that he hadn't had any pain there, and the feeling was foreign.

Professor Flitwick removed his glasses, face looking more worn than Harry had ever seen it. "Please tell me I am not the only one to have seen this?"

Harry paused. "Well, Ron and Hermione have," he admitted. "But that's it."

Professor Flitwick rubbed a hand against his forehead, sighing softly.

"You have been tortured with a dark device and the only person you thought to shown it to was your friends?"

Harry thought it best not to bring up that he hadn't wanted them to see it, either. "I guess so, sir."

Professor Flitwick sucked in a deep breath, eyes closed. "Do you know whether others have been forced to use the quill?"

Harry frowned. "I think the Weasley twins, but I don't know anyone else."

"And how often are your detentions with her?" His voice was still as strong as ever.

"Everyday, sir." Harry rubbed the back of his hand, looking down.

Was Professor Flitwick looking at him the same way McGonagall had? The sadness, the disappointment, the _annoyance_ laced within her eyes, hidden behind the gleam of her glasses but still there. If he looked up, would that be what he saw?

"Okay." Harry looked up and met Professor Flitwick's eyes. They were filled with nothing except powerful, raw determination- so far from the emotions inside Professor McGonagall's eyes.

"Mr. Potter, I will request you meet with me tomorrow at 5 o'clock - I believe you have a free time then?" At Harry's nod he continued. "I will do everything in my power to stop this, Mr. Potter. Trust me."

Harry didn't. Oh, how he wanted to, wanted to trust everyone person that asked him to, but with everything from the Dursleys to Parseltongue to the stupid Triwizard Tournament to even Umbridge, he just simply couldn't do that anymore.

But he _hoped_. Oh, he hoped with all of his heart and mind and whatever soul he had left.

A few minutes later, Harry left Professor Flitwick's office, slightly dazed but happy. He held a pass from him explaining why he was out after curfew so he couldn't get detention, and he was out late enough that both Ron and Hermione had fallen asleep.

He wondered what Professor Flitwick was going to do.

The next day dawned bright and early, and Harry quickly got dressed. He only had breakfast and Transfiguration today, and then it was lunch and then it was town for him to meet Professor Flitwick again. He found himself unable to wait, quivering in both excitement and far. Would it be over soon?

He found that he was up so early that even Hermione was still in her bed, so he walked down to the common room and hung out for the next couple of minutes. He spent most of his time tapping his fingers up and down the backs of the chairs and trying to casually wave to any other Gryffindors leaving the common room. But finally Ron and Hermione came down the stairs, nearly at the same time.

"There you are!" Hermione exclaimed, darting toward him. "How did it go?" Her face was a bit pale from sleep, but her energy levels were as high as ever. Harry grinned despite himself.

"Later, Hermione," he said. "I'll tell you about it over breakfast - I'm starving."

"I'll agree to that, mate," Ron grumbled, rubbing his eyes. He already had his bag of books for the day, and Harry cursed and ran back upstairs to grab his. Hermione laughed.

They walked together to the Great Hall, Ron and Hermione laughing and joking together. Harry didn't join in. He didn't find many things funny nowadays, more happy to stay in the backgrounds. While it had only really started this year, Ron and Hermione seemed to have adjusted to it, and for that he was grateful.

Breakfast was rather simple, just pancakes and sausage and bacon. He ate quickly, but found that his stomach was nearly already full. He pushed it off as nervous for getting on with the day.

Hermione prepared her barrage of questions for how his talk with Professor McGonagall went, and had asked the first question when Professor Flitwick stood up.

Harry fell silent immediately, ignoring Hermione's confusion. He only had eyes for the professor.

Standing barely changed his height, only boosting him a tenth of a meter. But Professor Flitwick didn't care; quickly, he stood up on the table, quickly drawing attention from every student and teacher in the room.

"I have an announcement to make," he declared, voice strong and confident.

He saw, in the corner of his eye, Harry Potter looking up at him with something unreadable carved into his face. He ignored his friends, focusing only on the Charms Professor. Hermione looked even more confused than he did.

"It has come to my attention that there are certain teachers at this school that are willing to use illegal and dark objects on our students."

There was a gasp that rippled over the room, whispers and murmurs and hisses rising and falling like tides. But Flitwick noticed Professor Umbridge sit ramrod-straight up in her chair, fixing him with a glare strong enough to melt stone. He grinned, just a little.

"So I have decided to contact the necessary Ministry forces needed to stop this. Please, if any of you students have experienced torture under the hands of this teacher, come to my office. I can arrange an anonymous interview or simply get you the healing you need."

Professor Flitwick inclined his head to the Great Hall, but Harry could see it was aimed at him.

"That is all." Then he sat down to the rumors of the students to the panicked silence of Professor Umbridge to the confused looks from Professor McGonagall.

Harry felt the edges of his lips twitch up.

Though his hand still stung painfully and his friends were demanding answers from him and Professor Umbridge looked like she was planning his funeral, he was happy.

Harry Potter met Professor Flitwick's eyes, and they both shared a smile.

 **Hello**!

 **So** **this** **is** **an** **interesting** ( **I hope) idea I had for a rather long fic. It explores a bit more of a depressed Harry, one who is quickly deteriorating with Professor Umbridge's detentions. Then he stumbles into Professor Flitwick and bam! The story is born!**

 **You probably noticed how Harry is thinking a lot differently. That's because he is a bit more clinically depressed and even a bit suicidal. If you notice something ok writing or doing wrong, please tell me! I'll fix it, because I want to make this as correct as possible.**

 **So anyway, I hope you like the idea. A bit policital, a bit depressed, a lot co fused, and one lone little Harry wondering what he's going to do.**

 **I'm not sure how often I can update this, as I recently had my school computer taken away (I wasn't in trouble, the school year is just the over). So I'm pretty much writing everything here on my phone. My poor fingers!**

 **But anyway! Please read and review!**

 **Frost OUT!**


	2. Birds, Scars, and Others

Harry Potter could say, that in the moment following Professor Flitwick's words, he had never been more stunned.

He hadn't expected anything like this. He was used to Professor McGonagall, false promises and sugary words they both knew didn't do anything but helped cover the pain of the problem. annoyed glances, ignoring him, 200 points off and a detention when Malfoy only got 20. Ignoring his warnings of Snape, but always having enough time to detract points that flew Gryffindor behind. Telling him to keep his head down when his hand was scarred and bloody.

That had been what he had expected.

It hadn't been _this_.

Professor Flitwick had only said a few sentences, but each one rang with power like words struck from a gong. Each word chosen carefully, tone full of a gentle blankness that did little to hide the anger in his eyes.

He had actually prepared for this, thought things out.

And Harry had noticed the reaction - he was always noticing things now, he had seen that. Any movement students or teachers or pets made he was aware of.

But the reaction of the students was something he hadn't expected.

He had expected rage, anger, shock; but not the startled reaction of _others know about this?_

 _I'm not alone?_

 _It will stop?_

How many people were attacked by Umbridge? Harry couldn't answer at all.

But looking around at the whispering students and the relief etched deeply onto some faces, he wondered just how many anonymous interviews Professor Flitwick would get.

The tiny professor had already sat down, grabbing a piece of toast and jamming it up like normal. He ignored the shocked looks and hurriedly whispered questions.

As Harry's gaze snapped to him, though, Professor Flitwick looked up. He smiled a sad, soft grin, and then went back to his meal. He carefully tapped his wand that was lying next to his plate, then went back to eating.

Harry smiled slightly back, then turned around.

And saw the shocked face of Hermione.

"You told Professor Flitwick?" She hissed, though her voice was loud enough to be regularly talking. "What happened to Professor McGonagall?"

Harry looked over at her, and had to remember that she wasn't there, it was only him and McGonagall in that cold room.

"She brushed me off," he said. His voice was hard, much colder than he had intended.

"But- but the scars!" Hermione said, brows raising up into her forehead. "Didn't you-"

"She didn't let me, Hermione." Suddenly Harry was tired, exhausted. He didn't want to do this. Just wanted to keep through his Saturday. "She said how there are only certain charms allowed on quills within the Hogwarts Wards. Apparently, Professor Dumbledore checked them over himself."

"But-" then Harry stopped paying attention to Hermione, because something brushed against his leg.

Harry jumped, nerves flaring up like they were dipped in lava. He nearly flung his fork toward Ron's face.

He looked down, ignoring Hermione's spluttered sentences and Ron's wide eyes.

There wasn't anything below the table anymore, but there was something crawling up on top of his seat. Something made of white parchment.

A tiny bird. A bird made of folded parchment, twisted together to form two tiny wings, a body and head, and even a short beak.

Harry laughed.

It was adorable.

The bird opened its mouth in a silent chirp, flapping its wings. It flew up and landed on Harry's outstretched hand. It blinked paper eyes, tilting its head to the side.

It was incredibly lifelike. There were tiny folds along the wings to make feathers, its tail was long and ended in several feathery points. The neck was shaped perfectly, nothing out of shape.

The bird was amazing.

Then, in a flurry of rustling paper, the bird unfolded.

His mood fell even before he knew what had happened.

Harry's brows furrowed. How had Professor Flitwick given the piece of paper life? It had moved and flew and silently chirped and lived and _breathed_ but how had he done it? Given life to a piece of parchment?

Harry wanted to as well.

But now he focused on the paper, reading the nearly printed words on its surface.

 _Mr. Potter, I would like to request that you come to my office during lunch hour today. There may be other people who have suffered there - if that is not okay, then come to my office at 5 o'clock._

 _Professor Flitwick._

"Harry!" Hermione finally broke through his screen of concentration. He looked up, startled, seeing her wide brown eyes and imploring face.

"What does it say?" That was Ron, his voice worried and his face concerned.

Why were they so nervous? It was just a letter, no matter how cool and bird-like it had been.

It was then that Harry noticed his fingers gripping the edge of the table, digging deep enough to turn his fingers white. He unclenched hand, staring at the red marks lining his palm.

The movement _hurt_. It pulled at his only partially closed wounds and he felt a single trail of blood carve a path from his hand to the tip of jos finger. He pulled the sleeve of his robe over it.

"Professor Flitwick wants to meet with me during lunch. It doesn't say why."

"Probably Umbridge, mate," Ron interjected, head cocking to one side. "Maybe she'll get arrested!" He grinned. "Good riddance, too."

"Ron!" Hermione said, though her voice had no heat and she was smiling softly too.

There was a pause.

"Well, off we go. We've got Double Transfiguration and then lunch." Hermione grabbed the bag by her feet, her books neatly tucked inside. Harry's wasn't nearly that clean, but he really didn't care.

Harry stared around one more time. Nearly a quarter of the students had already left, and everyone else was packing up.

But Professor Flitwick was still there. Though he was scanning the Great Hall, his eyes flicked to Harry much more often.

Harry found he didn't mind.

He stood up, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "Well, off to Transfiguration."

They walked out of the Great Hall, the Golden Trio together once more.

It was a relatively short walk to Professor McGonagall's classroom, and they just traveled in a comfortable silence.

But it was getting continuously less comfortable for Harry, as the pain potion was starting to wear off. It had been draining away all morning, but as soon as he had eaten, it appeared to have disappeared completely.

That was probably something that Snape should have taught him, but didn't.

They walked into the classroom with five minutes to spare, walking to their seats directly in the middle front. Hermione made them sit there on the first class of the year and they had just sat there everyday since.

Harry winced as soon as he sat down. He should have gone to the Hospital Wing the instant after breakfast, but he had been shocked and now it was too late. He wasn't going to give McGonagall another reason to take points away.

But there was blood sliding against his hand, and he really _didn't_ want to leave red on the desk.

"Hermione?" He hissed over to her. He was in the middle, like normal.

She leaned toward him, head tilted to one side. "Yeah Harry?"

"Do you have any bandages?"

Hermione sucked in a deep breath and her eyes darted over to Harry's left hand. "Oh, _Harry_ \- I only have a few inches. You used up most of it two days ago."

"I'll take any that you have, please," he whispered back to her.

Wordlessly, she reached into her bag. Fiddling around for a second, she pulled out a small bundle of white bandages. _That_ had been an adventure and a half to convince Madam Pomfrey to give them bandages instead of them just coming down to her. In the end, Harry had to pull out how many times he was injured.

And even then, they had only gotten a meter.

Harry accepted the bandages and immediately set around to work. Hermione probably didn't know the full story, but she knew that he was quite good at wrapping wounds. He was glad she hadn't asked him.

He pulled his sleeve back, looking critically at his wound. With careful pulls, he wrapped the worst of the cuts and pulled it below his sleeve.

It stung but not as as as it could have been. And just as he finished up, Professor McGonagall walked into the room.

Her robes were a beautiful dark blue, like the sky without the stars. They swished around her feet as she moved, and Harry found himself oddly transfixed by the gently swaying cloth.

"Good morning, class." She announced, and Harry jerked out of his thoughts. "Today, as we have a double lesson, we will be able to cover both the theory and the practical for a new spell."

She pointed her wand at a scrap of wood on her desk. Twisting her wand in a half halo, she muttered, "Avifors."

The piece of wood shuddered before it expanded, thinning and lengthening and brightening. In a under a second, there was a living, chirping bird standing on her desk. It was tiny and small, but light gray feathers and a red breast. It tweeted, turning toward the class.

"Avifors. The art of turning any non-animate object into a bird. It is a relatively difficult spell, as one must create the innards of a bird, along with making then actually work."

"Now, if everyone would open their books to chapter 12, page 208, we will be looking at the diagram of a robin-"

Harry stared at his button. It didn't stare back.

He had the robin pictured in his mind, thinking of their wings and the feathers and the eyes. He flicked his wand in a jerky circle and said, "Avifors!"

The button instantly started to expand, and in a few seconds, something that was definitely not a button was sitting on his desk.

He wasn't sure it was a _bird_ , though.

It had the shape of a bird, but the edges were jerky, too straight. The bird was a pure white, not the gentle browns of a robin. It opened its mouth, but no sound came out.

"At least yours moves, mate," Ron grumbled, poking his wand at his perfectly shaped but frozen bird. Quickly, he said the spell again. There was a soft burst of light, and then Ron's bird chirped and pecked at his desk. He grinned, satisfied.

There was a gentle chirp from his right, and Hermione's bird preened itself.

Harry scowled and prepared to try again.

Class had been annoying, but nothing had been overly difficult. He had gotten half points for his bird being alive, but he hadn't ever been able to make the bird have color. Everyone had gotten a foot-long assignment on how big of a bird they could make with the same sized button. Harry guessed about a vulture, but he'd have to do more research to be sure.

But now it was time for lunch, and Professor Flitwick.

And any other students have could have had to use the quill.

Harry hated to say it, but he was beyond curious.

What did Professor - not Professor, that toad didn't deserve - Umbridge make them write?

 _I must not tell lies_ was something Harry found poetic. Umbridge lied to the world by using something she wasn't able to carve lies into his skin.

But what would that others have? _I must always be respectful to idiot toads wearing pink_?

He didn't think that was in any way realistic, but he would have loved someone having written that on their arm.

But now here he was. He had left Hermione and Ron at a turn, promising to tell them everything about what would happen. He stood in front of the wooden door, cherry yellow light spilling from underneath the edge.

He raised one hand up - his right one, his left still burned and stung and hurt - and pushed the door open.

Professor Flitwick's office had changed drastically. The desks and chairs were pushed off to the side, and in their place was a circular table, one with six chairs.

And there were people there. At the head was Professor Flitwick, his chair infinitely taller than the others. He smiled at Harry and gestured toward a seat opposite him.

Harry grinned nervously back and walked over to the seat offered, slowly climbing into it. He gripped his left arm tightly.

There were three other people at the table. One was a dark haired dark skinned dark eyed girl with blue stitching up her robes. Her right hand was tucked in her lap, though she winced slightly as she moved. She stared at Harry with wide eyes. Harry knew her - it was Padma Patil, Ron's date to the ball.

But the other two people were one she knew well. Sitting - no, really _perched_ \- on top of their chairs were Fred and George Weasley.

They grinned at Harry with much more tired smiles than he ever remembered them wearing. They looked exhausted; their skin was a pale shade of white and heavy black circles were dotted under their eyes. The glorious manes of red Weasley hair were frizzy and glittered with sweat. The one on the left lifted a hand to greet Harry.

"Welcome, Mr. Potter," Professor Flitwick greeted softly. "Do all of you know each other?"

Harry and the twins nodded, though Padma took a second to do so.

Flitwick looked over at all of them, peering over his crossed fingers. His gaze was powerful but gentle, like a storm far in the distance.

"We are all here for one reason," he began, looking at each of them in turn. "You have been hurt by a member of this staff. Can each of you identify them?"

"Umbridge," Padma said. Harry nodded when Professor Flitwick turned to him.

"Umbitch," one of the twins said in a low tone. No one corrected him.

Professor Flitwick nodded. "Then I am here to help you stop Miss Umbridge from harming you. Can you describe what she used to harm you?"

There was a pause.

"A quill. She made me write lines but the quill used my blood to write." Harry looked down as Professor Flitwick's gaze landed on him.

"It's a dark object, and it leaves scars," Padma added, voice sounding much more sure than Harry felt.

The twins looked at each other, and Harry noticed how they each gripped their left hand lightly. Nothing was visible of their left side. "It's called a Blood Quill, and is very, very illegal to be in this school. It's only used for important contracts and peace treaties." The one Harry thought was George said.

"It should also be impossible for Umbridge to have one." Fred added, voice colored with anger.

Professor Flitwick stopped and looked at them. "Where do you find that out?" He sounded honestly curious.

They looked at each other and shrugged. George said, "We snuck into her room and found a book about them. She'd been researching how long it would take to kill someone with them."

Harry froze. It would be oddly convenient for him to die, wouldn't it? His breath picked up ever-so-slightly.

"How long?" He asked.

George looked at him. "Nearly 30 hours straight. It's about as close to impossible to kill in detentions."

Professor Flitwick interrupted, still speaking in the same gentle tone. "What lines did she force you to write?"

Harry spoke first. He had to get this off his chest, the burning weight that was the words she forced him to carve into his flesh.

"I had to write _I must not tell lies_." He shot Professor Flitwick a nearly pleading look. "Do we have to show our hands?"

He shook his head. "Not yet, Mr. Potter. While eventually, yes, you may keep them as they are for now." He fixed his gaze on the next person, who was all to willing to speak up.

Padma scowled, black hair swishing as she shook her head. "I am supposed to 'not talk about my culture's spells, as they are being reviewed by the Ministry and may be decided that they are not legal."

One of the twins - Fred, Harry had to call them by their names - cocked his head to one side. "Did she make you write all of that on your arm?" He teased lightly, though his eyes were dark. "Must've taken you all detention to only write one line."

Padma shook her head. "No. I only had to do _I will only attempt or study spells declared legal_."

Harry winced. That was infinitely longer than his was, and he found himself looking at where she had hidden her hand. How long was her scar?

"And you two, Mr. and Mr. Weasley?" Professor Flitwick asked.

The twins - Fred and George, mirrored in their bodily exhaustion, joined by last names, separated by their first - looked at each other.

Then they yanked their sleeves back.

Harry gaped. He had thought his hand was bad, that he was suffering - but he was nothing.

There was very nearly nothing humanly recognizable about the twins' hands.

* * *

 **Ooh, a cliffhanger! I'm sorry about that, but it was the perfect time to end this chapter. I hope you like it; I churned out this next chapter (on my phone, no less) in under 24 hours since my last release! Go me!**

 **So anyway, you might have noticed something about Harry. He's making a lot of strange talk, bringing up endless metaphors and describing the world around him in vivid detail. This is actually things that people who are being tortured, abused, have depression, or PTSD will do. It's a natural instinct that also binds with how their personality changes drastically. So expect Harry to be acting differently.**

 **But anyway! I hope everyone has enjoyed this new chapter, and I hope to get the next one up soon!**

 **Please read and review!**

 **Frost OUT!**


	3. Luna's List

Harry had thought his hands were bad.

He was wrong.

The _twins_ were bad.

Bloody lines crisscrossed up and down their hands, like rows of soldiers ready for war. The bright red, highlighted with the white shades of scars below them. They contrasted deeply with their pale skin, but the twins' had never been _this_ light, always having some sort of soft tan.

Whatever they had once had was now bleached from their skin.

There was splatters of blood on their fingers and wrists, and large splotches over the back of their hand. It was beyond impossible to see what was written there.

"We didn't have any time to clean them off yet, sorry," Fred apologized. His voice was thin and weak and taut and nervous and so _not him_ that Harry felt a shudder of winter ice creep down his shoulders.

But what was the worst about their hands was that it _didn't stop_ at their hands. Thin cuts were flicked across their upper arms, flecked with much dried blood but still bright red and irritated.

"Where did those come from?" Harry couldn't help but blurt out. He stared open-mouthed at the lines crawling up the twins' arms.

George answered this time. "We quickly discovered that if you misspell a sentence, write something new, accidentally scratch your quill on the paper, or do anything other than write the one line, it starts to take blood from a different spot." He gestured with a dead grin on his face. "Our hands are getting a bit shaky now so there are lots of mistakes for the quill to take more blood on."

If Professor Flitwick had been a furious teacher for Harry, he was a goblin warrior for the twins. Bright, fierce eyes, shoulders snapping to attention. His wand, though it had been several inches away from him, was now right in his fist, angled toward a wall. His voice was as sharp as steel. "How long have you had detentions with her?"

The twins shared a glance. "Well, we got one on the first night," George supplied, looking thoughtful. Fred nodded, picking up the sentence.

"We brought in three boxes of fireworks, some really fancy stuff we've been developing." A wistful grin flitted into George's face.

"But in only two to three hours, Filch had somehow 'wandered' into our room and found everything in our trunk."

Umbridge burnt it all and assigned as three weeks worth of detention." Now both of their faces were twisted in hate.

"So, once every night for about 2 and a half weeks."

Harry paled. He'd only had detentions for a _week_ , more if he was being honest. He was just overestimating his entire situation. Who was he to complain about suffering when the twins were going through this? It wasn't fair.

Professor Flitwick looked deadly, eyebrows snapping together and hands intertwined so tightly his knuckles were the pale shining white of the moon. His face looked more furious than Harry had ever seen him, including the time that he had seen Harry's hand.

"What the-" Padma's voice trailed off as she shot an almost guilty look at Professor Flitwick. He didn't react.

"- _fuck_ ," she finished.

"Ooh, one of the little Ravens swears, practically _scandalous_ ," one of the twins - Harry was not focusing on who was who at the moment - said, waggling his eyebrows. The joke fell a bit flat.

"How long do you do that?" Padma finally said, voice weary and eyes flicking over their hands. Surprisingly, the twins didn't seem self-conscious about their arms. Sure, they had been completely hidden before, but now they were bared and open on the table. They didn't even flinch as three people dragged their eyes up and down the wounds.

"Two to four hours. Well past curfew. We've actually been assigned three more detentions past our first batch because she 'caught' us out after curfew even though we were just leaving her detention. Guess it just _slipped_ her notice to give us a note." They finished wryly, their expression soaked in hate and anger.

Professor Flitwick was very, very cold. "Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley, what is written on your hands?"

Fred gave a cold, hard smile. " _I will follow any and all rules_ , sir. Took a particular delight in 'accidentally' smuggling in a whole new load of supplies with that carved on my fist."

Professor Flitwick didn't even bat an eye at any mentions of smuggling. If anything, he grew harder.

Harry was - dare he even admit it - _scared_ of these twins. The ones he knew were joyful, happy pranksters all-too-willing to smack a bludger a bit harder towards Malfoy's undefended back and steal away in the night only to bring back crates and crates of Honeyduke candy and ice-cold butterbeers.

These twins were cold, sharp edges. Ruthless, tired grins, hands speckled with their own blood, dotted in carved words. The bite of ice and the pain of fire. They were exhausted - it was clear to see - but their backs stood straight and their shoulders didn't relax from their ramrod position. They looked ready for war.

There was a knock on the door.

Everyone froze. Expect for the twins.

In a wild flurry of movement, robes were straightened and cloth bandages whipped out of pockets. They converged on each other, and in only a few seconds, their arms were wrapped and hidden and neatly tucked beneath lengthened sleeves.

Harry gaped at them.

The door pushed open.

Silvery blonde hair, tumbling down like it had never been cut. Wide grey eyes that glittered and sparkled behind thick, heavy lashes. A wide smile that was crooked and pale with nervousness. Black robes tinged with dark blue and silver.

Luna Lovegood stepped out from behind the door.

"Miss Lovegood!" Professor Flitwick sounded and looked shocked, eyes wide and voice high. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh. Is this not the room for the anonymous interviews? I guess that would make sense. Anonymous normally means that there aren't other people in the room." She squinted around, eyes flicking toward every person in the room. Her eyes stayed heavily on the twins, before she turned around. She started toward the door.

Harry blinked, and then there were two empty chairs next to him, one of them falling over on the ground. Two redheaded blurs disappeared form the table.

In under a second, Fred and George appeared in front of Luna, arms crossed. But Fred's eyes were definitely wider than normal, and George's right hand was clenched tightly enough they were white. They definitely looked more worried than scary.

Fred scowled. "What in the world are you doing here?"

Luna tilted her head to one side. "Well, Mr. Flitwick did say to come here to talk about dangerous dark artefacts being used on students." She didn't look at the professor, though her eyes kept flitting from Harry to the twins to Padma.

"But only people who were-" George trailed off, eyes wide.

There was silence from the two of them. "Luna. You didn't tell us about this," Fred said. His eyes flicked over to her hand, but it was covered with a pale grey sweater she was wearing under her robes.

She smiled sweetly but with an undercurrent Harry couldn't read. "Well, you didn't tell me about _you_ , so I saw no reason to repay a nonexistent favor."

"But there was no way you would have been targeted by Umbitch!" Fred demanded. "You literally have no reason for her to give you detention! You don't speak up in class. You don't bully. You turn in good homework on time! _What_ would have her give you detention?"

How did Fred know all that stuff about Luna?

But Luna didn't blink an eye at all of the stuff Fred listed, though she smiled a little at the name they gave her.

"Well, it's not my schoolwork that she's mad at. Miss Umbridge is, apparently, _very_ pro-Ministry."

"Well, yes. That's not hard to see," Padma butted in. "With the whole 'Ministry is the best' speech she had at the beginning of the year. But what does that have to do with anything?"

Luna frowned softly at her, but continued talking. "Well, my father runs the Quibbler, a newspaper article that talks about pretty much everything imaginable. Well, there are several pages every time that are rather non-Ministry. I guess Miss Umbridge didn't like them very much."

"She was able to give me several detentions for writing an article,. It was really quite small, I had just learned a little bit about thestrals and wanted to put it down for others to learn about. She cornered me after class and gave me them, saying that 'students are not allowed to influence or write newspaper or media.'"

Harry frowned. "But wait. Didn't Malfoy and some other kids give interviews to Rita Skeeter-"

"That seems to have fled her mind." Luna deadpanned. "Or maybe only 'Ministry-sanctioned' newspapers are allowed to talk to students. Really, I don't remember any such rule as what she made." With a flick of her wrist, Luna's wand shot back up her sleeve. Harry saw the glint of black leather wrapping around her right arm,

"Though _I will obey all Ministry rules_ does have a rather nice ring to it." Her voice was not what Harry remembered her to be.

She had, on the train, seemed rather dotty, if Harry was being honest. Butterbeer cap necklace - _she wasn't wearing that now_ \- wand behind her ear - _now it was tucked in something safe on her arm_ \- and a magazine she was reading upside down - _now she had a neatly rolled scroll under her arm_. Her voice was stronger, more filled with reality; before she had been quieter. Softer. More Looney than Luna.

But now she was strong, like the steel of her eyes.

With a careful motion, she produced the scroll she was carrying. Luna pulled it open, exposing two lists of names. She walked a few steps forward and handed it to the rather short professor.

"These are all of the names I could find abou students that have had detention with Miss Umbridge since the start of the year. There is only one case of someone having detention for a week, everyone is shorter. But the student would like to remain anonymous for now."

Harry stared. The names reached nearly all of the way to the bottom of the page, in two columns. The parchment was nearly the length from his elbow to his fingertips, and the names were written with rather small lettering.

Professor Flitwick just looked shocked. He had been angry, seeing the twins' and Harry's hands, but now, confronted with the list of names that spanned nearly an entire piece of parchment. "We've only been at school for two weeks." He said faintly.

Luna looked a strange mixture between angry and morbidly satisfied. "Imagine if it had been allowed to continue all year. I wonder how many more names I could add to this list."

Harry knew when Professor McGonagall was worried. Her lips would thin and her face would pinch. Her voice would raise and her eyes would tighten. Her fingers would tap along her robes and her sentences would shorten.

He had seen her grow worried many times over the past four years, and he would see it well into his remaining years.

But Professor Flitwick was different. Harry had barely ever seen him other than Charms classes. He was a quieter worrier, not like the rather loud and brash Professor McGonagall. His face tightened in all he same ways as the Gryffindor Head of House but he was silent for several long minutes, fingers threaded together. After a while, he spoke.

"Every student on this list has been in detention with Umbridge?"

Luna nodded.

"Has everyone had the quill used on them?"

Another nod.

Professor Flitwick sucked in a deep breath. "Would any of them be willing to show their wounds and also share what happened to them?"

Luna nodded again, pointing to the name at the top. "I put a check next to the ones that are willing. They are - for the most part - willing to share anything, but nearly everyone requested a private room."

"How do you know so much about this?" Harry was beyond curious. Luna Lovegood was someone he hadn't noticed at all during his years. He knew she was a year younger than him, and a Ravenclaw. But how could she know about everyone here?

Luna looked over at him, swishing her robes around her ankles. "Oh, nothing important. It took me quite a while to gather all of these names."

"But how did you even find any in the first place?" Harry pressed.

Luna shrugged.

"Nothing to worry about," one of the twins said. "What _I_ want to know is what we're going to do about Umbridge. How can we stop her?"

Professor Flitwick winced. "We have a really big problem for that. I can contact the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but they won't be able to arrive until tomorrow."

Padma frowned. "But the law enforcement only needs a few members to come over, and surely they have at least someone that can come over and photograph this!"

"I know, I know. But things are different. Normally, we would call over an Auror as soon as they got the Floo-call, and then everyone willing would be taken into safety at the Ministry until the matter was smoothed over, and Umbridge punished."

"So?" Harry demanded. "Why _aren't_ we doing that? This could be over tonight!"

"But this is different. We are accusing a Ministry member of a crime punishable of Azkaban. That can't just happen overnight. Everything is blown to humongous proportions because she's a Ministry official." Professor Flitwick grimaced. "It's a bit of a messed up situation, but it's a little 'perk', I guess, of being a Ministry member."

"So we have to get the entire Wizengamot involved in order to properly accuse her. The problem is, we can't do _anything_ until we get, at the very least Amelia Bones to lead an investigation. This will take at least until tomorrow."

The Indian witch looked over at the twins, whose father worked in the Ministry. "Is it really like that?"

They could only shrug. "I don't know. We've never seen a Ministry member get accused on _anything_. Normally they just get off scot-free." Fred shot a grin at George. "So this is what we have to go rough to get Percy out of a job?"

They high-fived over Padma's sighs.

"So when can we accuse her?" Harry nearly growled. He couldn't wait until Umbridge was behind bars.

"It will take me at least tomorrow to be able to organize Amelia and enough Aurors to both subdue Dolores Umbridge. I'm sorry, but that is actually the fastest that even Albus Dumbledore could do. Ministry events have to have at least 24 hours to make sure enough members of the Wizengamot can make it, or else no one can vote."

"But, but-" Harry trailed off. He cast around desperately for anything that could make them speed up, make Umbridge be arrested tonight.

"I've got detention tonight."

One of the twins sucked in a breath. "So do we. Umbitch is going to be a million times more furious with us."

Professor Flitwick shook his head, eyes dark. "That doesn't matter. All of you are going to skip tonight, and Professor Umbridge can just wait. Tomorrow, it won't matter whether you skip tonight. Luna, I'm going to need you to tell all of the people on your list that they shouldn't go to their detentions tonight if they have them. Don't tell any of the teachers- we don't want this to spread to Umbridge."

Luna nodded. So did everyone else, Harry included. No detention, and then Umbridge would be arrested.

"Lunch time," George added.

Professor Flitwick flicked his wand and muttered "Tempus." A light blue image of a clock floated in the air in front of him, easy to read. "I guess it is. Well, off you go!"

Harry stood up and thanked Professor Flitwick. The twins quickly left the room before Harry could talk to them, Luna following quickly behind. Padma gave Harry a slow look, before sliding out of the room. Professor Flitwick stood up from his chair, still tightly holding onto the list of names.

"I must go prepared for my charms class." And then he was gone, his door only mostly closed.

Harry grinned. Umbridge would be gone tomorrow and he didn't have detention with her anymore.

All he had was a lesson in Potions (He could handle that, he didn't care about anything at this point) and one for Divination, then dinner, then a skipped detention that he would take great pleasure in relaxing in front of the fireplace for.

"Mr. Potter!"

Harry looked up from his comfortable position on a common room couch. The fire was crackling, his stomach was full, and he was the most relaxed he'd been in a long while. Who was speaking to him?

It was Professor McGonagall, face bright in anger.

Harry frowned. What was she doing?

"Mr. Potter. It is nearly 15 minutes after 7 o'clock, which is when your detention with Professor Umbridge has been scheduled for the past week. I have been informed that this is your fourth time being late to her detentions. The House of Gryffindor will not tolerate this behavior! First you lie about it, then you try to skip it! This will not happen!"

"But, Miss McGonagall, I didn't lie! Professor Flitwick said that I didn't-"

"But nothing, Mr. Potter! You will not skip out on another detention!"

The doorway to Umbridge's office was a strange, sickly pink. Harry was shaking all the way down to his toes. Professor McGonagall had left him a while ago.

His hand already hurt, but he couldn't get to Professor Flitwick. Professor McGonagall had promised that if he left the detention, he would be hauled to Professor Dumbledore's office faster than he could blink.

His hand throbbed with an acute pain.

"Mr. Potter," Professor Umbridge's overly sweet tones floated through the door. "Please come in."

* * *

 **Hello! Not dead!**

 **So I hope you enjoy this chapter. It took me a while to write it, and while I'm not completely satisfied with it, I like it enough to post it.**

 **So anyway! We get a sense of what** _ **really**_ **should've been in the fifth book. We can hardly believe that Harry was the only one tortured by Umbridge, right?**

 **So! Here's some political things, and some definite problems for Harry! I can't wait to right his little detention ;)**

 **Anyway! Please read and review!**

 **Frost OUT!**


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